Thursday, March 19, 2015

ZOO KEEPERS

As the mom of a toddler, I think I have a pretty
good sense of what it feels like to be a zoo keeper. Actually, sometimes I fantasize about how much
easier life would be if I just worked at an actual zoo. Let me explain…

Dressing
a toddler each morning feels like you’ve been tasked with
dressing a crab, forced to get a sock over each of his 10 legs without him
scampering away. And the crab keeps taking the socks off as you put another on
so eventually you just give up and sneak the socks on at breakfast while he is
being distracted withFrench toast
sticks and syrup. Finally, the crab looks down and realizes you didn’t put
Mickey socks on him and you have to go through the entire process again.

Working with a toddler who is potty training feels like working in a barn, having to clean up
after the animals. Except in addition to cleaning you also have to constantly
bribe the horses and cows with M&M’s just to get them to sit on the potty
and hear them insist they just don’t have to go. And then you have to
inevitably clean up the stall a mere moments later after the barn animals have
pooped their pants while standing there coyly smiling at you, still chewing on
their M&M’s.

Helping a toddler into the car each morning feels like you’ve been told
to guide an elephant into a car. But this elephant wants to wear rain boots
instead of sneakers and keeps running away from you until you just have to carry
him out of the house and pray he’ll let you put his sneakers on in the car. And
once you get the sneakers on, the elephant insists on strapping himself and
starts getting frustrated when he can’t do it so starts kicking and flailing
around when you try to help. Oh, and the elephant has an older brother who
has only four minutes to get to school before he has to sign in late with the
office.

Meal
time
feels like you’ve been tasked with feeding a rabbit to eat. But instead of eating
only carrots, they prefer to gnaw on chocolate, and when you insist they have
to eat a sandwich first they spend the next twenty minutes jumping around on
all the furniture. Finally, you come to a mutual agreement that the rabbit will
eat the sandwich if he gets to make it himself, but as you hand him his little yellow Gerber knife to
spread the peanut butter, he insists he will only use the blue one, which is dirty
in the kitchen sink.

Bath
time
feels like you’ve been solicited to give a whale a bath, because how could that
much water end up splashed on to the floor from just one little child? And the
whale insists on putting more soap on his hair as soon as you’ve rinsed it off.
And wants to be washed with a blue washcloth. Only blue. And the whale refuses
to get out of the tub, even after all the water has gone down and you’ve begged
and pleaded with the whale that it’s not a particularly smart idea for him to
just lie in an empty, cold tub with no water.

Getting
a toddler to bed feels like you’ve been asked to get a
school of fish into bed. Fish that need more water than any other fish you have
ever encountered in your whole life. Fish that are drowning in the huge pile of
stuffed animals they demand be left in bed with them.